


let's get carried away

by honeydripping



Series: we're dancing in a world alone [2]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Barebacking, F/M, Pregnancy, Rule 63, Women in the NHL
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 13:45:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16873977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeydripping/pseuds/honeydripping
Summary: “Wait, are we not having sex tonight?” He feels Jack laugh against his back.“No, you idiot. I want you awake when you fuck a baby into me.”





	let's get carried away

**Author's Note:**

> IF YOU FOUND THIS THROUGH GOOGLE, KNOW ANYONE MENTIONED IN THIS FIC, OR ARE MENTIONED IN THIS FIC: dear god please turn back now. this is, obviously, a work of fiction, but some of the events mentioned within are inspired by real life.
> 
> Title is from Mine by Beyoncé.
> 
> This fic is a sequel, and while it _probably_ could be read without having read the first fic, I wouldn't recommend it.
> 
> I started writing this before I'd even finished summer slipped us underneath her tongue, which made writing that fic really interesting. I knew how everything ended, that even with all the shit I put Jack and Noah through, they'd eventually end up here.
> 
> Any trades or playoff wins/losses made in this fic are purely for plot purposes and are not meant to be commentaries on the teams.

 

“We should have a baby,” Jack says. She’s making pancakes while wearing a Bruins shirt with his name splashed across the back. It’s really working for him.

Noah chokes on his coffee. Jack looks over one broad shoulder at him and arches a pale eyebrow. “You good, Hanny?”

He nods, sipping his coffee again to avoid having to answer her question—or think about what she said before it.

Noah knows he shouldn’t be surprised. Jack’s always loved kids, has expressed on multiple occasions that she wants kids of her own some day. He also knows that her baby fever kicked in _bad_ this year. He was with her when she held her nephew for the first time at Christmas. She’d looked up at Noah with watery eyes and said she wanted one. He’d thought she meant it in an abstract way. But now, when they go shopping, she lingers in the kids’ sections, holding up tiny clothes and saying: “Look how cute, Hanny!” And he’s seen her on more than one occasion this winter looking at baby names and baby jerseys.

He’s in trouble.

(It’s late January and by some small miracle, their bye weeks have lined up, at least partially. Jack’s had started before Noah’s did and will end before his is over. With the little time they had together, they’d decided to just spend it at home. It was supposed to snow the whole week and their only plans were to maybe venture out once to skate on a nearby pond. The rest of the time they’d spend in bed or bundled up on their couch.

Last night was the first night Jack was back in Boston. She’d shown up to the game with Noah’s parents, wearing one of his jerseys, and had come down to the glass during warm ups. He’d been a little shy about that at first, blushing when he saw her waiting there. He hit the glass a couple of times, tossing her a puck before he went back into the locker room. Some of the younger guys chirped him about it, but the vets smiled knowingly. Noah played harder that night than he’d played in a long time. When Pasta had teased him during intermission about showing off for his girl, Noah’d just smiled. He couldn’t deny it.

The Bruins had been able to pull out a win over the Canucks, thank god, and he’d floated home on a cloud, impossibly happy from the win and from having Jack at home mid-season. They’d showered together before crawling into bed, curling tight around each other, holding on like they might otherwise slip away.)

Jack sets a stack of pancakes down in front of him, piled high with strawberries and chocolate chips, the way he likes it best. When she slips in between his spread thighs, hands wrapping around him so she can lean into his space, he presses himself back into the seat of the barstool, taking all of her weight.

He loves this, the way she overwhelms him with her size and her body heat and the scent of her hair. Noah presses a kiss to her forehead, hugging her close, not wanting to let go. She pulls back after a few moments, leaving him to start his breakfast while she finishes making hers. He eats in silence until she settles down next to him. That’s when she says:

“Ideally, I’d like to start trying for a baby soon, that way I could potentially be pregnant by the end of the season and not have to miss too much of next season. What do you think?”

Noah takes an impossibly large bite of his pancakes, humming as he chews. Jack stares at him, eyebrow raised.

It’s not that he doesn’t want kids. He very much so does want kids. And he wants them with Jack.

But their life isn’t ideal for this. They’re apart for half of the year and traveling most of that time. How would a baby fit into that? He knows that other players like Kuznetsova and Crosby had made it work, but Kuznetsova’s husband stayed home with their kids and Crosby was, well, Crosby. He and Jack weren’t on the same team, and while they were closer than they’d been in the past, they still lived hours apart. Jack still has a decade of her career left, easily, and Noah has the same if he’s lucky. The idea of missing out on a decade of his kid’s life… makes his heart hurt.

The idea of not even trying makes his heart hurt even more.

Noah turns towards Jack after he’s finished chewing and she turns towards him, eyebrow still raised, a challenge now, more than a question. Her expression softens when Noah raises a hand to brush her hair back from her face, leaving one hand on her cheek, the other on her knee.

“Okay, Jackie. Let’s do it.”

She’s quiet for a moment, and so impossibly still—but then she exhales hard like she’s been holding it back, and breaks into the biggest smile he’s seen from her in a while. He _has_ to kiss her then, has to taste that smile.

When he pulls back, she’s still smiling, but it quickly turns into a smirk.

“Better finish those pancakes, Hanifin. Gonna need your energy.”

Noah raises his eyebrow at her this time, before turning back to his plate, finishing everything on it.

—

Noah hasn’t proposed yet. He’s not sure he will, or if it’s even something Jack wants. They’ve talked about it before, in abstract, and he knows that, right now, they’re both content to just keep going the way they are. After all, in the five years they’ve been together, they’ve spent more time off than on.

It’s hard—being with someone you only see for a handful of days throughout the year.

He’s cherished every waking moment he’s spent with her during the summers they’ve shared, those hot, sticky days spent with her in his bed, under his skin. They’d start every season off with promises that this time it would be different—but it never was. The distance was always too much, too painful, too hard to get through.

It _is_ different this time.

They’re older. He’s closer. She’s more settled into her role with the Sabres, more secure in every sense of the word. Watching her grow into who she is as a player, as a _woman_ , has been so rewarding in ways that Noah can’t even put into words. He’s just… so in awe of her. Of everything she can do. Maybe he’s soft, but _god_ he loves this woman. He can think of no way he’d rather live than listening to her bitch every day for the rest of his life.

That first season, they only made it until December before they broke things off. He’d been _crushed_. Chucky had tiptoed around him at first, but by February, he was over all of the moping and the amount of Drake Noah had been listening to. So Noah tried his best to get over it—get over her.

It didn’t work.

By the first time he saw her that summer, it all came flooding back. A deluge of things left unsaid, of feelings barely concealed, all held back by a shoddily built dam. One glimpse of her across the room, and that was it. The town was swept away in one fell swoop as the dam burst.

It didn’t take long until he was back in her bed. And just like that, they picked up where they left off, like it was nothing. They lived like that for two more years—together during the summer, apart during the season. No questions asked, no answers given. What went on when they were apart was their own business.

When Noah got traded again, he found himself in Boston, seemingly for good. They wanted him and they wanted him for the long haul. At the end of that summer, he bought a place, and asked Jack to leave her stuff there—to stay with him during breaks and during the off season. Even then, he wanted to ask her to stay for good, but was too scared that it would make her run.

That was two years ago. Two years of summers spent in each other’s back pockets. Two years of long breaks and weekends spent grabbing the few hours together they could spare. Two years of Christmases with both of their families crowded around the big table Jack insisted they needed. Two years of him sleeping in their bed all year round, knowing it was only a matter of time until she was back in it—back with him.

So, no, Noah hasn’t proposed yet. But he’s practiced his vows to her with every breath he’s taken since the moment he saw Jack camped out on his couch, eating his cereal, and wearing his BC t-shirt.

He wants this, forever—or for as long as she’ll have him.

—

Fucking without a condom is not something Noah’s particularly experienced with. They’ve done it precisely twice before. Once was when they were experimenting with period sex (great, but ultimately easier to clean up with a condom) and once in the shower (practical, but Jack stressed herself out over potential pregnancy—not worth it). And while the league preferred her to be on birth control during the season, she wasn’t the biggest fan of what the hormones did to her emotions. So, pill or no pill, they used condoms.

That all stopped in January. Every time they saw each other from that moment on, they didn’t use condoms. All of their bye week and again when they played each other twice in February and once in early March when they’d met each other halfway in Utica. Their days off had lined up perfectly and Jack had been convinced that maybe that would be it. That it would be the time it took.

But, five days later, Jack had texted him.

_not pregnant_

Two small words. Jack hadn’t cried when Noah called her hours later, but he could feel the frustration coming off of her in waves. There was nothing he could do from nearly 500 miles away—and that made him feel powerless.

—

Tomorrow was the last time Buffalo was set to play Boston this season, and Noah was shaking with nerves. Not because of the game, but because of what was happening tonight. They’d just lost a game against Toronto, the team failing to sync up with too many minor fuck ups that added up to a dud of a game. He hadn’t had much time to dwell on that, or on his performance, though; within two hours of the game ending, he and the rest of the team were on the plane to Buffalo.

“You up for drinks tonight?” a rookie asks Noah after they’ve landed and are gathering their things.

“Are you kidding?” Pasta asks, throwing his arm around Noah’s neck. “He’s not coming to the hotel with us."

The rookie raises his eyebrow, puzzled. “What? Why not?”

“Gotta see his lady tonight,” Charlie explains, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. The rookie’s eyes widen as he remembers exactly who Noah’s girlfriend is.

It’s not exactly a secret, him and Jack. They’ve never made an announcement or anything, and both of their teams try to stay out of it. But… it’s out there. There’s pictures from birthdays and Christmases, from post-game meals and the off-seasons spent together. People know. People have known for a long time.

But sometimes he forgets that not everyone pays much attention to his love life or understands the intricacies of him and Jack.

“Anything big planned for tonight?” Pasta asks as they walk down the aisle of the plane.

Noah’s quiet for a second, but leans in and whispers, “Jack’s, you know,” he says, gesturing. Charlie stops in the aisle and Pasta runs into him from behind. Both are staring at him. “Sorry, just, you know. Ovulating. We’re trying and—”

“No, man, that’s… that’s great. I remember you mentioned it. It’s been what, two months?” Charlie asks.

They start walking again. “Three. Which… isn’t long but Jack is starting to get discouraged. I keep telling her that it takes time.”

Pasta hums. “Yeah. I heard that. Took Willy’s sister almost a year when she started trying.”

God. A _year_. Noah hoped it didn’t take that long. He wasn’t sure Jack could take the wait.

As they walk down the stairs, Pasta gets his attention and points across the distance to the parking lot. Jack’s waiting there. He figured she would be, but it still takes his breath away, sometimes, when he sees her and remembers that he gets to have this.

One time, in the early days, when they were going through a rough patch, his mother had asked him why they didn’t just call it a day and find someone closer, someone who could be there all the time. He’d sighed down the phone at her, frustrated, before saying: “I don’t want easy, mom. I just want _her_.”

And he did. Their relationship was complicated and messy and _hard_ , but he wouldn’t trade it for the world. He’d take a handful of days with her spread out over half a year over none at all.

It’s cold as shit out, despite it being March, but she’s standing there in nothing but leggings and a long sleeve t-shirt. Charlie and Pasta come over to say hi, giving Jack a hug, before hustling over to the bus, and loading on with the rest of the team. Noah takes his time walking over, drinking in the sight of her.

They’ve been lucky recently, seeing each other every couple of weeks, but he never gets tired of this. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, cut relatively short for the season, curls wild around her face and jaw. She’s shoved a Bruins beanie on top—one he’d given her years ago, way before he was even on the team—causing them to puff out at the bottom. Noah thinks she’s the most perfect thing he’s ever seen.

“Get over here already,” she says, and when he’s within reach, she grabs him by his coat and pulls him in close.

It’s easy to drop his bag on the tarmac and wrap his arms around her. He’s always loved Jack’s size, how they’re only separated by a few inches, how _solid_ she is. She feels good in his arms.

Jack lets out a little moan into their hug, squeezing him tighter where she’s worked her arms under his coat.

“You smell good, Hanny,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

“Yeah, I know how you love the smell of arena soap and sweat.” She pinches him before stepping back and grabbing his bag. When she smiles up at him, his heart clenches in his chest, and he can’t help but smile back.

—

It’s not a long drive to Jack’s house, but it’s late enough that Noah falls asleep, waking up only when Jack pulls into the driveway. Jack’s owned this townhouse for years. It’s older, but it’s big and on the waterfront. Noah’s only been here a couple times.

Walking through the door is always weird. There’s no questioning that this is Jack’s house. It’s her taste in decor and her family photos in the living room and her framed jerseys and her mementos.

Noah’s house in Boston—it’s theirs. They share it together. This? It’s all hers. There are no signs of him in the house, or of their life together.

He doesn’t like it. He feels like a guest.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Jack says after they’ve slipped their shoes off at the door. She walks him up the stairs and down the hall, her hand on the small of his back the whole way.

She takes him to the closet, setting his bag down and helping him take off and hang his suit. “Do you want to shower again?” She asks once he’s down to his underwear. He shakes his head. The game is catching up to him and he kind of just wants to sleep for a year.

“Why don’t you go get in bed. I’m gonna go get ready.”

Noah slumps face first into Jack’s bed, assuming that Jack is getting ready for him to fuck her. He’s surprised when she slips into bed with him a few minutes later and presses a minty kiss to his lips, before rolling over to turn the light off. He’s half-asleep when she wraps herself around him, but still awake enough to question his current situation.

“Wait, are we not having sex tonight?” He feels Jack laugh against his back.

“No, you idiot. I want you awake when you fuck a baby into me.” Though half-dead to the world, Noah feels his dick twitch at that. With a lot of effort, he could probably go tonight.

“That makes sense,” he says on a yawn, and between one breath and the next, he’s asleep.

—

When he wakes up, it’s to Jack palming him through his briefs. Through his sleep-addled brain, he can tell that he’s half-hard already and that it’s very early in the morning.

“Time is it?” he slurs. Jack’s kissing up his neck, running her lips over his beard, and nipping at his jaw.

"About seven,” she says. Noah groans.

“Why so early? I don’t have practice. You don’t have practice. We don’t even need to be at the arena for _hours_.” He’s still exhausted from the night before and is, unfortunately, whiny.

“‘Cause,” she says, rolling him onto his back so she can straddle his abdomen. Noah’s hands reflexively come up to settle on her thighs. “I want you at least twice before we have to nap this afternoon. Three would be ideal, though.”

Noah groans again. Scratch having a baby, Jack clearly wants him dead. How’s he supposed to concentrate on the ice tonight when all he’ll be able to think about is how many times he’s come inside her in the span of a single morning?

_There goes Jack Eichel! Zooming up the ice on a breakaway, not slowed down at all by the three loads Noah Hanifin pumped into her earlier today._

He laughs to himself for a moment. Jack quirks her eyebrows at him.

“What’s so funny, Hanny?” she asks.

He shakes his head at her, and she tweaks his nipple in retaliation. Noah just laughs harder before pulling her down for a kiss.

She tastes stale, first thing in the morning, but he’s as addicted as ever. In the quiet, dark of her room, he feels cocooned by her. Wrapped up in the smell of her hair and sheets, the way her weight settled over him is comforting, not suffocating, and how the muscles in her ass and thighs feel under his hands. He could happily die like this.

It takes little effort for her to slide her underwear down her legs and push his briefs down just enough to get him inside of her. They both hiss when she’s fully seated, him snugged hot and thick inside of her. Her head is thrown back, one long, pale, perfect column. He wants to lean up and _bite_ , but his limbs are still weighed down with sleep.

This early in the morning, Jack’s syrupy slow and soft around the edges. Her kisses are longer, sweeter, and her touches linger. Noah loves her like this. She sighs long and hard as she starts moving over him, raising up before pushing back down. Sliding into her like this—bare—is a revelation. He can feel _exactly_ how soft and wet and _hot_ she is and it fries his brain every single time.

It doesn’t take long for him to get there. He’s so close to coming already, but he knows she’s not. In an instant, he has her on her back, thrusting back into her from above. She laughs in surprise before pulling his face to hers and kissing him roughly.

“God, I love how strong you are,” she says, circling his biceps with her hands.

“I know that’s why you keep me around,” he says, sitting up so he’s kneeling, flexing both of his arms at her, before winking.

“Okay, calm down, Patrick Bateman,” Jack laughs.

Noah frowns. “Don’t make jokes when I’m inside you.”

Jack rolls her eyes at him. “So put your fucking back into it and make me forget how to talk, Hanifin.”

And yeah, Noah can do that.

When she comes, her back bows _hard_ , chest thrust up towards him, breasts heaving. She’s shaking all over, and it takes no effort for him to thrust into her a few times, coming deep inside her. He stays like that for a while after—mostly because he knows Jack likes it. She’ll never admit it, but she likes how close they are like this. Absolutely nothing separating them.

Her hands are wandering up his arms, across his shoulders, into his hair where he’s let it grow long (again). His wander in kind, stroking up her thick thighs, thumbing at the crease of her hip, palming her ribs and up over her breasts.

“Hi,” he whispers to her before kissing her. Jack’s hands tangle in his hair and she pushes up into his space as much as their position will allow for.

“Hey,” she says, smiling, slow as molasses. Jack kisses him again before pulling back and saying, “How about I make you breakfast while we wait for round two?”

Noah hums, pushing Jack’s t-shirt up so he can press kisses to the underside of her breasts. She shivers.

“That sounds nice,” he says, pulling out of her, “or I could eat you out.”

He looks up at her and raises his eyebrows. They’ve only done that a couple of times—him going down on her after he’s come inside her—but enough to know that they both like it a truly _stupid_ amount.

Jack contemplates his offer for a moment, but ultimately shakes her head.

“Maybe later,” she says, rolling out of bed and pulling her underwear back on. He watches as she walks across the room to rummage in her closet for a pair of sweats. She’s wearing an old Team USA shirt, and he wonders if it’s his. He almost asks, but when her back is turned, there’s no question that it is, _Hanifin_ splashed across the space in between her shoulder blades. Noah had been certain that he’d lost it. But here it is, hundreds of miles from home, safe and sound with Jack.

She walks back towards the bed, pressing a kiss to Noah’s lips, before heading out of the room and down the stairs.

Noah lays there for a few more minutes before getting out of bed to clean up.

It’s while he’s brushing his teeth that he starts taking stock of little things he’d never noticed the previous times he’d been to Jack’s house in Buffalo. A tube of the brand of toothpaste he likes is in the drawer. His preferred brand of shampoo is in the shower. There’s a jar of pomade in the cabinet that he knows Jack would never touch.

In the closet, Noah finds a few pairs of sweats and underwear in his size in a drawer, along with a few pairs of the fluffy socks she knows he likes to indulge in, but won’t ever admit to loving.

And, as he suspected, shoved in along with the dozens of hockey shirts Jack has managed to collect over the years, are a handful that at one point had belonged to Noah. Canes. Flames. Bruins. Even BC. Shirts he thought he’d lost in various moves, or washes, or trips. All tucked away in Jack’s closet, like a dragon’s hoard.

Back in Jack’s bedroom, he grabs his phone off Jack’s nightstand where she’d plugged it in for him last night. Before he can check it for any important notifications, he notices something that almost brings a tear to his eye. Amongst all the junk Jack keeps on her nightstand (lip balm, tubes of lotion, a nail file, a few worn novels), is a framed picture of Noah and Jack.

It’s old. Noah can barely remember it being taken the morning of the draft. He’d come down from his room with his family and had seen Jack in the lobby.

Noah had never thought much about Jack’s looks before that day—or, at least, he’d _tried_ not to. She was a teammate and a close friend, and yes, a girl, but utterly off limits in his mind. That morning, however, when she’d turned around and smiled at him in the hotel lobby, he’d felt like he’d had the wind knocked out of him. In a tailored, BU red suit, no tie, shirt unbuttoned a little lower than the NHL would like, and wearing sharp looking heels, she’d looked dangerous, and Noah had _liked_ it.

“Look at you, Hanny,” she’d said, wolf whistling as he got closer. He’d ducked his head, feeling bashful under her gaze. She’d made a comment about “pure American beef” which her mother had overheard, scolding her, before insisting they take a picture together.

“Ma, we’re gonna be late,” Jack whined. She’d slung her arm around Noah’s waist all the same, pulling him towards her. Close up, Noah could smell her perfume, and it made him a little dizzy.

The thing is, Jack is tall. Not tall for a girl. Just, _tall_. And while Noah had always had a few inches on her, that day she was taller. With her heels, it was enough to make him look _up_ to meet her eyes. She’d smiled down at him as he smiled up at her. That’s when her mom had taken the photo.

In it, they look impossibly young to Noah. He remembered feeling so grown up that day. Looking at himself now, he’d still been such a _boy_. He hadn’t been able to grow facial hair to save his life and baby fat still clung to his face. Jack was much the same. She was muscular, sure, but lanky and angular like a foal. Over the years, that had changed. While Jack was still muscular as hell, she’d softened around the edges, putting on weight that she couldn’t drop, no matter how hard the trainers tried. But Jack didn’t mind it, and neither did Noah.

(He’d overheard a rookie referring to her as “stacked” once—and she was. Charlie’d given him a slap for that, but had laughed about it later, teasing Noah.)

Walking out of Jack’s room and down the hall, Noah notices more things. Framed pictures line the walls of the hallway. Photos from her childhood—with family, with teammates, looking impossibly small in hockey gear. Photos from her time at BU. Photos with NTDP crew. Photos from Team North America, with her arms tucked around all the girls on the team—Connor, Johnny, Dylan, Morgan, Ryan. Photos with Noah. There’s ones from that summer, when they’d first started hooking up, from the beach trip with Auston, Zach, Chucky, and Charlie. There’s more from vacations, the summers they’d spent in Mexico and Italy. From China and Thailand. There are even some from Christmases past, ones with their families, crowded around the tree or in front of the fire.

He’d never thought of this as his house. It was Jack’s through and through. But… she’d brought pieces of him here, evidence of their life together. His heart feels so heavy and full when he finally enters the kitchen.

Jack has music playing on her phone and she’s dancing around a little. She doesn’t notice him at first, but when she does, her cheeks flame, going splotchy and red.

“How long have you been standing there?” she asks, pointing a spatula at him.

“Long enough to see your sorry attempts at dancing,” he says, shuffling towards her.

When she’s within reach he pulls her in, hugging her as tightly as he can.

“I love you. So much.” His face is buried in her hair, his voice muffled.

“I love you, too, Hanny.” She says, pulling back to look up at him. “Is everything okay?”

“Just needed to say it.” She nods.

“Okay, weirdo,” she says, before turning back to the stove where she’s making omelets. Noah stands close to her, pressed all along her back, close enough that she’d normally get frustrated and shove him away, hissing out, “Fuck off, Hanny. You’re crowding me.”

But she doesn’t. This time, she lets him crowd her and doesn’t complain even once.

They eat their omelets in the living room, pressed close together on the couch with ESPN on in the background. Noah wouldn’t give his career up for anything, but sometimes… _sometimes_ he wishes that he could have this every morning, for the rest of forever.

—

After breakfast, they clean the kitchen up together, washing and drying in tandem. Jack tells him about her new rookies and Noah catches her up on the latest Pasta-and-Willy drama. It’s how he would’ve spent his morning anyway, except, it’s in person and not through a fuzzy Facetime call.

He pulls her in for a kiss once the last dish is put away and she melts into him, relaxing back into the counter. They fuck just like that—Jack pressed back onto the marble of her countertop, hands grasping at the stone and at the tile behind her. When she comes, it’s with a shout that bounces around the room, so loud that his ears ring.

—

“What names do you like?” Jack asks later when they’re back in bed. It’s a while yet before they need to nap, but it’s nice, Noah thinks, spending a day doing nothing but laying in bed with his girl.

“I’ve never really thought about it,” Noah says, thumbing at the sheets, hoping she won’t pick up on anything.

“Liar,” Jack says, laughing.

“Okay, so I’ve thought about it, a lot.”

“And?”

“I like traditional names, you know? Like Luke and Matthew and Marie and Emma.”

Jack hums.

“But Hammer named his daughter Charlie and I really like that too,” he admits. “What about you?”

“Well, I’m a girl called Jack, so…” she trails off. “I guess I like less traditional names? Like Avery and Harper and Sloane.”

“I like those,” Noah says, trying to make her believe him. She seems shy about this, like maybe she isn’t sure how he’d react.

“Yeah?” she asks.

“Yes,” he says, kissing her softly before pulling her close. “Whatever we pick, it’ll be perfect because they’ll be ours.”

Jack’s hands fist in his shirt and he can feel her trying to pull him closer.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Ours.”

—

He fucks her one last time that afternoon. They’d napped earlier than they’d planned, but for so long that he wakes feeling rested.

Noah’d woken up before Jack, too-warm under her duvet and from her body pressed close to his. In her sleep, her shirt had rucked up and he could see the curve of her hip and the dip of her stomach and so much smooth skin. Her mouth was open in her sleep and her brow was furrowed and she was snoring softly.

And she was perfect to him.

When she wakes up a little while later, she smiles up at him, all soft and slow and says his name just the same, all stretched out on a sigh.

It’s easy to kiss her, then, to press her back into the sheets and move his body over hers. With every move he makes, he tries to communicate the same message: _i love you i love you i love you_.

When he slides into her, that last time, she sighs again, head thrown back, nails dug into the small of his back.

“God, Hanny,” she says. “You feel so—” she trails off into a moan.

“So what?” he asks, thrusting into her deep.

" _Gooooood_.”

She goes practically non-verbal after that, moaning and sighing and pulling him in as close as is humanly possible. He wonders, briefly—morbidly—if she’s trying to climb inside his skin.

Noah comes before she can, and pulls out shortly after. His dick is so sore, he can practically feel his pulse pounding in it. He hisses and tries not to think about it—not with Jack close to sobbing under him.

“I got you, Eichs,” he whispers, kissing down her body.

It doesn’t take much to get her there. He licks over her a few times, sucking on her clit, as he slips his fingers into her. She’s so fucking _wet_ , both from how turned on she is and from how much he’s come inside her and goddammit if that’s not hot.

“Fuck, Hanny,” she moans, fingers gripping his hair. He crooks his fingers just so and she’s coming, hips jerking, nails biting into his scalp.

He gets her into the shower later, scrubbing her clean while holding her close. Barring injury, he won’t see her again until the season is over. Even after all the time they’ve spent apart, leaving never gets any easier. If anything, it gets harder. He knows how much it hurts now. How dark it can get.

“Gonna miss you so fucking much,” she says, pressing kisses to his chest. Jack’s a little sentimental and syrupy and tired. Maybe he shouldn’t have fucked her that last time. He’s a little worried she might not be ready for the game tonight.

“Me too, Jackie,” he whispers, clutching her tighter, water splashing down around them.

—

They arrive at the game together, and if that’s not a statement to the media, he’s not sure what is. Rasmus greets them in the parking lot and Sam teases them in the hallway when they hug before parting ways. He’s not expecting the hollers he gets when he walks into the locker room, but also, should he really be all that surprised?

“Jesus, you fight a bear?” Pasta asks, poking at Noah’s neck where he knows he has a mark.

“Ha ha,” Noah says, amused, but not wanting to give Pasta anything.

The game is fine, all things considered. He’s not at his best, but then again, he’s not twenty-two anymore, and they’re on a back to back and he just had marathon sex with his girlfriend. Sue him.

Jack, however, is on another level. She has a three point night, assisting on two goals in the first before getting one of her own in the final minutes of the third. Sam and Rasmus crash into her along the boards, cellying their hearts out. She points at him after she’s gone through the line at the bench. It’s a small thing, something that might go unnoticed. Just a point and a wink as she skates by, but it makes his heart thump wildly in his chest and Charlie elbows him, rolling her eyes.

After the game, there’s no time for him to linger. He showers quickly, talking to the media, before hustling out to meet Jack in the hall.

“That was some game, Jackie,” he tells her.

“Had to show off for my guy,” she says.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, quirking his brow. “Was he in the crowd tonight?”

“Something like that,” she says, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing her forehead to his.

“I don’t want you to go,” she admits, voice small and pitched low so no one passing could possibly hear.

He grips her tight, holding her close. “I know, doll,” he says and she pinches him.

“Doll, huh?” Her eyes are twinkling, and he wonders if she remembers when he’d called her that before, back in the early days.

“Not much longer and we’ll be together for the summer. Just me and you,” he says.

“Planning on skipping the playoffs?”

He rolls his eyes. “No, I like our odds.”

She hums. “Me too.” And Noah knows she’s not talking about hockey. He kisses her, then, for as long as he can.

—

Jack’s season ends during the first round. The Sabres aren’t swept, but it’s a close thing, nearly pushing Toronto to a game seven. Noah’s watching when she takes a bad hit halfway through game five, watches as her body spins in mid-air before falling hard to the ice. He watches as she puts her arm out at the last minute to brace herself. He sees the way her face contorts before she falls forward onto the ice, smacking her face.

“Jesus, Jackie, why’d you do that?” he asks into the room around him. She didn’t have to catch herself like that. She could’ve just taken the fall.

His breath catches in his chest as the seconds tick by, waiting for her to move, for her to get up. She doesn’t. From this angle, he can’t even tell if she’s conscious or not. She lies still on the ice for so long that he starts to feel sick. Sam is there, though, kneeling over her, when the trainers come. Together, they assess her and get her rolled over and onto her feet. Her face is bloody from where she hit the ice and she looks dazed, but okay.

He gets a call not long after that, letting him know that she’s okay. Broken nose and a broken wrist, but fine.

When she calls later that night, she’s high as shit and slurring a little.

“Please tell me you weren’t watching,” she says.

"I was watching, Eichs.” She hisses.

“Hanny…”

“Are you playing the next game?” He knows she’ll want to. _He_ would want to.

He wants her home now.

“No,” she says, and he can tell she’s frowning. “Even if I hadn’t broken my wrist, they’d want me to sit it out.”

He hums at that, not quite understanding why, but doesn’t ask. She’s pissed and he thinks that’s understandable. He doesn’t want to poke her any further.

“Hey, we’re probably gonna take the Red Wings in the next game. I could come see you?” he suggests, searching for anything that will make her feel better. “We could… try some more?”

She hadn’t told him that she wasn’t pregnant, but he assumed that nothing had come from their time together in March. Surely she would’ve told him if it had, right?

Jack hums. “Maybe. We’ll see how this round ends up.”

She sounds resigned, like she knows it’s already over—for her, for the team, maybe for both.

He talks to her about nothing until she falls asleep, and stays on the phone with her for a while after that, just listening to her breathing.

Two nights later he watches as Jack sits in the box, dressed in a suit, and looking on as her team gets absolutely caved in by the Leafs. She’s on the bench at the end, clapping her teammates’ backs as they come off the ice. Mitch and Auston skate by separately, each shaking her hand, and whispering things to her. Her face looks rough, cut across the bridge of her nose, bruises under each eye. She looks tired, and Noah wants nothing more than for her to just _come home_.

But he knows she has stuff to take care of back in Buffalo. Press. Management. Hell, just getting her house ready for her to leave for the summer will take a few days.

Later, when he’s winding down for bed, he gets a single text from her.

_Friday_

Six days. He can wait six days.

—

Noah gets home late on Wednesday night from their final game against the Red Wings. He probably cursed the team by telling Jack they’d take them in the next game. They hadn’t, and the Wings had pushed them to a seventh game. The team had been able to pull a win out in OT, but it had left them exhausted. Game sevens sucked, always.

When he walks through the door, he finds that something’s not quite right. The light is on above the stove, and he’s pretty sure he didn’t leave it on. In fact, he pretty much _never_ turns it on. Jack’s the only one who really uses it. His heart starts to race a little, wondering if some weirdo fan broke in. That happened to Segs once when she lived in Boston. Came home to find some overzealous teenager hanging out on her couch. Scared the absolute hell out of her. Jack insisted on strict home security because of it.

He creeps through the house slowly, checking room after room, until he finally starts to question his own sanity. Maybe he had left the light on? Or maybe the cleaners had accidentally left it on. Yeah. Probably that.

When he opens his bedroom door, he’s definitely not expecting to see anyone inside. He almost yells, before realizing who it is. Jack’s asleep, curled around his pillow, wearing a hoodie she’s stolen from his side of the closet. In person, her face looks even worse, nose scabbed over, face yellowing. She’s still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Noah gets undressed quietly before slipping into bed next to her. He pulls her close, pressing kisses to her face and tangling his fingers in her curls. God he’s missed her so much. He hasn’t seen her in over a month.

She stirs slowly, blinking up at him in confusion, before smiling.

“Hannyyyyyyy,” she slurs, voice thick with sleep.

"Thought you said Friday, Jackie.”

She hums. “I did. Couldn’t wait.”

“Where’s your car?” He hadn’t seen it in the garage, which was odd. Jack always drove back from Buffalo in the offseason. She liked to bring her whole life back to Boston, packed into as many suitcases as she could muster.

“I flew,” she says on a yawn, jaw cracking. “I’ll go back for everything later. Needed to see you.”

A single, small suitcase sits in the corner of the room. There’s no way she’s brought anything other than the essentials.

“I can go back with you,” he offers. “We don’t play again until Monday.”

Jack frowns. Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned the playoffs. “Who’d you get?” she asks.

“Flyers.”

“Claude’s last stand,” she says sagely. “She’s not going down without a fight.”

Noah nods. “We know. But we’re not gonna make it easy for her.”

Jack smiles, leaning back a little to take a good look at Noah. She runs her hand over his jaw where his beard is really growing in.

“This is coming along nicely,” she says, smile turning a little feral.

“You think so?” he asks, leaning in to kiss her, finally. She tastes like sleep and her lips are a little chapped, but she feels like coming home. Sleep has made her pliant and she lets him roll her over onto her back so he can press her into the mattress. She sighs when he slides his hands under her hoodie, feeling how soft and warm her skin is. He starts playing with the waistband of her shorts, inching them down little by little, when she stays his hand.

“Wait,” she says, breaking away from him, “I have something to tell you.”

Noah sits back on his haunches, staring down at her. She looks so good here, spread out in their bed that he momentarily forgets why he pulled back from her in the first place, whole body thrumming with the need to just dive back in.

The nervous look on her face stops him.

“My wrist isn’t the only reason I didn’t play game six,” she says. His eyebrows scrunch up.

“I came home early because I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to see you.”

“Oh, babe—” he starts to comfort her, to tell her that he gets it, how he’s missed her every single day since the last time he saw her, how it _aches_ deep down in his chest when he wakes up to an empty bed, how—

“I’m pregnant,” she says.

All thoughts leak out of Noah’s mind in an instant.

He stares at her, looking at her like he’s never seen her before. Apart from the bruising on her face and the cast on her wrist, she looks the same. He can see no clues, no hints, at what she’s just told him.

Pregnant. She’s having a baby. _They’re_ having a baby. She’s having _his_ baby.

Holy _shit_ he’s going to be a father.

He starts to tear up.

“Hanny?” Jack asks in alarm, sitting up immediately, cupping his face.

“Sorry,” he manages to get out. “I’m just so—” but he can’t put into words how he’s feeling right now, how _happy_ he is. So he just wraps his arms around her and squeezes her _so_ tight that he wonders, briefly, if he’s hurting her.

She smoothes her hands down his back and over his hair, letting him process. When his brain is decidedly less scrambled, he pulls back and looks down at her with renewed awe. Pregnant. His Jack was pregnant.

“I love you so fucking much,” he says, startling a laugh out of her.

“Yeah?” she asks, eyes a little glassy.

He nods. “You’re incredible, Eichs.” Between them, his hand finds her belly. It’s still flat, taught with muscle and firm to the touch, but he knows that’ll change soon.

“When?” he asks, looking down between them at where he’s rucked up her hoodie.

“December, I think? Maybe… Christmas?”

And… holy shit. Noah can’t help but beam at her. “Christmas?” She nods. “Best present I’ll ever get,” he says.

Jack groans. “That was so cheesy, Hanny.”

He nods. “Gotta work on my dad jokes.”

“Yeah,” Jack says, face gone all soft. “I guess you do.”

She goes easily when he pushes on her shoulders, lying her back on the pillows. Noah curls up next to her, body halfway down the bed so he can rest his head on her hip. She’s still bony, and it hurts his cheek a little, the way it’s pressed directly into her pelvis, but he doesn’t complain.

“Hi, baby,” he whispers, hand pressing into the soft skin of her waist. “I’m your daddy. I know we haven’t really met yet, but I love you so much.”

He feels Jack’s hand in his hair, gentle and tentative. When he looks up at her, she has her other hand pressed to her mouth. She’s crying a little, and he is too, but they’re both smiling.

“We’re gonna fucking do this, huh?” he asks.

“Yeah we are,” she says, a little shaky.

“I hope she’s just like you,” he says. Jack quirks a brow.

“How do you know it’s a girl? Could be a boy.”

He shrugs. “Just a feeling.”

She hums, before pulling him up the bed, curling around him like an octopus. When his hand settles on her abdomen again, Jack laughs.

“That gonna become a habit?”

“Maybe,” he says, not embarrassed in the slightest. “I like knowing you’re both here with me.”

Jack makes a soft sound, tilting her head back to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “Nowhere else we’d rather be, Hanny.”

He falls asleep smiling, arms wrapped around both his girls.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Drop by my [fic twitter](http://twitter.com/honeywrites_) to chat about anything and everything!
> 
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